


The World Devoured in its Pain

by edema_ruh



Series: Delivered from the Blast [15]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Badass Cosette, Badass Grantaire, Blood, Doppelganger, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hostage Situations, Human Experimentation, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Reader Enjolras, Near Death Experiences, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rescue Missions, Superheroes, Superpowers, Supervillains, Unresolved Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edema_ruh/pseuds/edema_ruh
Summary: Grantaire is ready to do anything for Enjolras, even after everything they went through.





	

As soon as Grantaire heard the gunshot he turned his head back, in time to see Combeferre fall limply on his back as Montparnasse got up – with some difficulty – from where he had been lying on the floor. The gun on his hand was still smoking.

The cynic could only gape in pure shock for a few seconds before the adrenaline kicked in and he had to move.

The gunshot didn’t go unheard by the security protecting the entrance of the facility; in fact, there were several guards running towards Combeferre's general direction on that exact moment. Grantaire could either stop the guards or stop Montparnasse. He wouldn’t be able to do both.

He looked back again to see Montparnasse running away, limping slightly. The guards hadn't seen Grantaire yet, but they had probably spotted Combeferre by now. If the man got captured, Grantaire could never break the Amis out alone.

Damn it, was Combeferre even alive?

Montparnasse was getting farther and farther away, even though he was basically limping, and every second of Grantaire's indecision meant one less second of Combeferre's life. Grantaire turned around, hands outstretched, and emitted a pulse strong enough to knock the incoming guards down. They all flied back and fell to the ground like ragdolls, and Grantaire wasted no time to watch them as he frantically ran back towards Combeferre, trying to keep his body low and out of sight but also going as fast as he could.

The man was lying unconscious on the floor, a pool of fresh blood already appearing from beneath his body. Grantaire took two trembling fingers towards his neck, looking for a pulse. He could have sensed it with his powers, he knew, but he was too focused on any possible guards that could appear from inside the facility and on the horrifying sight that was Combeferre’s blood, only increasingly flowing _out_ of his body. The pulse was there, slow, and erratic, but there. He had been shot just below the collarbone, and Grantaire could only hope that the bullet hadn't severed an artery or damaged Combeferre's heart.

He started applying pressure to the wound with bare hands, trying to stop the bleeding, but he didn’t know what to do. He needed to take Combeferre out of there immediately, but even if he did, he wouldn’t know how to treat him. He had no medical experience whatsoever, and taking Combeferre to a hospital would be equivalent to handing the man and himself over to BL on a silver platter.

Suddenly, the possibility of Combeferre's death dawned upon Grantaire. He was bleeding fast, pulse weak, he had been shot, for god's sake. Grantaire couldn’t take him to a hospital, couldn’t treat him, and there was no one he trusted to help him.

"Don't die", Grantaire whispered to Combeferre, unable to keep the trembling from his voice and pressing down harder on the wound. Combeferre grunted in pain at this, but didn’t seem to be conscious. "Please, don't die. You can’t leave me right now, ok?".

Grantaire looked back at the facility, sensing and seeing movement near the front door. They were probably sending more guards to check what the gunshot had been. Several rooms were being lighted up inside the building, Grantaire could see more windows getting bright by the second. He looked back down at Combeferre, only then noticing a white sheet of dirty paper lying on the floor beside him. The edge was coated with fresh blood, but as Grantaire picked it up with one hand, he saw that the message scribbled on it was still legible, even though the writing was hurried and lax.

_They can save him. Meet me @ the backdoor._

Grantaire saw red. He felt rage and betrayal bubbling inside him, breaths coming out in harsh puffs through his nose as he finally understood what had happened.

Montparnasse had shot Combeferre to create a distraction. He had shot Grantaire’s friend so that they could get in the building more easily.

But even if Grantaire left Combeferre to be found by the BL guards – they would certainly save his life, wouldn’t they? If the Combeferre and Enjolras from this world were as close as they were in Grantaire’s world, then BL _knew_ that letting Combeferre die would be stupid. If Enjolras escaped, they could always blackmail him using his best friend – , that meant that Grantaire and the Amis would have to leave the guide behind in order escape. There would be no time to break all of the Amis out and go back for Combeferre without risking to be caught, or without risking the man’s life. Montparnasse had easily chosen to sacrifice Combeferre to save all the other Amis, but Grantaire didn’t know if he would be able to do the same.

Time was running out and Grantaire didn’t know what to do. He found there were tears welling in his eyes as he looked down at Combeferre, whose face was growing paler and paler in contrast with Grantaire's blood soaked hands. His mouth was ajar, making him look like a heavy sleeper, and his glasses were askew on his face, probably dislodged when he collided with the floor. His pulse was growing weaker by the second. He was dying, and Grantaire had to make a decision  very quickly because there were men emerging from the front door and running towards them.

He would never be able to save Combeferre’s life and he knew it. He didn’t have Joly’s medical expertise. He had no idea how to save a life or to treat a gunshot wound that serious. If he tried to move Combeferre, he could end up getting him killed faster. And even if he managed to take him out of BL’s headquarters, how would he enter the hotel room with a bleeding man without calling attention?

 He remembered Enjolras' voice, Bossuet's smile, Feuilly's comforting hugs, Bahorel's loud laugh that resonated through any room. Cosette's sweet advices, Marius' awkward puns, Courfeyrac's practical jokes, Jehan's poems scribbled on his arm, Éponine's warm presence beside him as they cuddled, Musichetta caressing his curls. He remembered Joly, probably tied up and crying somewhere, being held captive by their copies, enduring the torture and abuse that Grantaire had to endure, facing his worst fears becoming reality and hyperventilating as he tried to suppress his panic.

He remembered Enjolras – his Enjolras, not the evil, corrupted copy that bore his face and his voice – hugging him, cuddling him, saying that he loved Grantaire, smiling sweetly.

The guards were opening the fences and going through. They were running towards Grantaire and Combeferre. They were getting closer.

Grantaire had spent so much time worrying about what Combeferre would do if he was caught, that he didn’t even spare a thought to what _he_ would do if Combeferre was caught. He would have to make a choice. It was either Ferre or all the Amis.

Grantaire wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left Combeferre behind and he knew that. But for now, that was the only possible thing he could do if he ever wanted to see his friends – to see _Enjolras_ – alive again.

"I'm sorry", he whispered, voice shaky from unshed tears. He held Combeferre’s hand, even though the man was unconscious, and squeezed it. “I’m going to come back for you. I promise”. Sparing one last look to Combeferre's dying form and hoping that this wouldn’t be the last he ever saw of the man, he got to his feet and ran away.

-

Grantaire only dared to look back at Combeferre' general direction once he reached the far corner of the building. He couldn’t see much, since he was too far away, but he knew he hadn’t been followed and could sense the vibrations of the men's footsteps echoing through the floor. They were heavy and firm, and Grantaire could tell that they were carrying a body – Combeferre’s body. He even dared to concentrate further and sense their heartbeats, and he tried not to let guilt fill his heart as he sensed Combeferre's unnaturally slow beating heart.

Grantaire cleaned his blood coated hands on his pants as best as he could and shoved Montparnasse’s note in his pocket before he resumed running to the facility's back door. It was suspiciously empty of any guards.

The truck or the third-party cleaning company was there as promised, back doors open widely only to reveal an empty truck body. They would probably use that truck to reach the building with the portal and finally leave this hell of a place.

If everything went according to plans.

Montparnasse was nowhere to be seen, but Grantaire decided that he didn’t care anymore. He would probably kill the man if he saw him. If he was as smart as he tried to look, he’d be miles away from them right now.

Grantaire entered the building, sharpening all his senses to any possible threat. He had no gun on him, and the only way he had to defend himself was using his powers. He didn’t know in which floor his friends were being held, and as he reached the elevator and pressed the button, he figured that it must be stuck on the lower floor, for it wasn’t moving at all. He found the emergency stairs and entered them, because it not only offered him a temporary hiding spot but also allowed him to focus on any possible vibration he could sense. He was basically a human radar by this point, and as soon as he closed his eyes, he could feel everything vibrating around him. It felt as if the more he used his powers, the stronger they grew, and Grantaire didn’t know whether that was good or bad. After all, in this world, he was known as _Deathquake_. Which was a pretty stupid name, if he was being honest with himself, but he figured that if it had “death” on it, then it couldn’t be particularly good.

 He couldn’t read Courfeyrac, not with the man's ability to change and manipulate his own density, and Bossuet’s body usually moved and vibrated too fast for Grantaire to be able to track him down, but he soon found two presences on the underground that could be the boy Gavroche had sent, from the quick flutter of the heart, and somebody else that he _only hoped_ not to be Montparnasse, because Grantaire was pretty eager to stick to his word and kill the guy as soon as he spotted him.

The emergency stairs only went up, not down, which made Grantaire frown. There _was_ a lower floor, he could feel it. The vibrations coming from beneath his feet were faint, almost muffled by something, but they were undeniably there. However, where there should have been a set of stairs leading to the lower floor, there was only solid concrete. To reach the lower floor and, therefore, his friends, Grantaire would need to take the elevator, but there was something clearly obstructing the door and preventing it from going up.

This meant that his friends were trapped below and he was trapped upstairs with all the guards.

Grantaire was sure he could deal with all the guards on that facility using his powers, but if they were wearing the special gear they had used when they captured the Amis, the cynic wasn’t sure if he would be effective against them. They weren't stupid, they were probably already readying themselves for the possibility of a break out, and they wouldn’t be unprepared against super humans. They had captured Enjolras, for god’s sake, and two of Enjolras’ most trusted men were still free. Of _course_ they would be expecting Grantaire and Combeferre to break in, and of _course_ they would be ready when it happened. Using the elevator to help his friends escape was the only apparent way, and the most obvious plan. That elevator would probably be the most heavily guarded place on the floor.

This meant the elevator was completely out of the question, and therefore, there was no way Grantaire could possibly get to his friends. The stairs didn’t reach the floor they were being held at. Grantaire thought of only one an alternative, but it was so stupid he didn’t know if it would work.

Well, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. He was already knee-deep in this shit, anyway.

When you hit rock bottom, the only way is up.

-

_A few moments earlier_

Montparnasse was well aware that the drunk curly haired guy would never forgive him for shooting his friend, but he could only hope that saving that blonde boyfriend of his would redeem himself.

The truth was, the original plan wouldn’t work. Even those two idiots knew that, deep down, they only didn’t want to admit that to themselves because they were either too dumb or too stubborn. And Montparnasse was tired of staying in this shitty noir like world; if he really wanted to get out, he would have to take the matter in his own hands.

Plus, he didn’t shoot the Combeferre guy to kill or anything. After all, he had (kind of) saved Montparnasse’s life, and Montparnasse wasn’t exactly known as an ungrateful man. No honor amongst thieves, that’s for sure, but Combeferre wasn’t exactly a thief. Maybe, if they got lucky, they would even be able to get him back at the end of all this.

Grantaire would probably think that he would try and run away, but instead he reached the back door of the facility, which was thankfully empty except for the truck parked outside the fence. Gavroche's boy was there, sitting at the back of the truck body, legs dangling from the edge. Well, he wasn’t exactly a _boy_ , he was probably two or three years younger than Montparnasse himself. But he still looked too young to be meddling in matters like this.

Not that Montparnasse could judge, he had started in this life pretty early as well.

"I didn’t think you'd be attending this in person", the boy said, eyes widening as soon as he spotted Montparnasse. He hopped off from the truck and shoved both hands inside his pockets, head slightly bowed in respect.

"I didn’t want to leave this unattended", Montparnasse said, doing his best not to pant from the effort it took to walk all that way there and standing straighter despite the ache in his ribs, chin raised in defiance. He had never met his doppelganger, but if he was as important as people said he was, he would probably have a better posture than Montparnasse was pulling right now.

“I… I was told to wait here for either Death – I, I mean, uh, Grantaire, before going inside”, the boy stuttered, clearly nervous, trying to hide his trembling hands from Montparnasse’s view.

“And I’m telling you now that you’re going in with me”, Montparnasse said, trying to keep his voice firm and stern. The boy’s head lowered further, showing his hesitation. “You have a problem with that?”, Montparnasse asked, raising an eyebrow at the boy, who immediately shook his head.

“N-no, sir”, the boy said, hands firmly grasping the trash cart that was inside the truck and pulling it out.

“Then let’s go”, Montparnasse nodded towards the fence. The boy begun to push the cart towards the fence, albeit more slowly than Montparnasse would have liked.

"W-what _happened_ to you?" The boy frowned, eyes wide and afraid, noticing the dirt covering the front of Montparnasse's clothes and the way they seemed torn and ragged.

"You ask too many questions", Montparnasse growled, pulling off his most menacing face and looking around absentmindedly. The boy instinctively continued to walk, this time faster, finally remembering his place and lowering his head again in submission.

"Sorry, it's just that...", he started, swallowing dry before stopping himself.

" _What_?" Montparnasse snapped, turning his head to look the boy in the eyes.

"You're usually... impeccable", the boy murmured, looking straight at his own feet.

"I had a misfortune on the way here", Montparnasse said, acting perfectly. If the boy had dared to look up, he wouldn’t have been able to notice Montparnasse's trembling hands or the pain hidden inside his eyes. "I don't want to waste any more time. Let's go".

The boy nodded, still not looking at him, and begun to walk even faster. If the BL staff caught them, they would need a plausible reason to be in the facility, and the trash would be the excuse. But Montparnasse wasn’t exactly hopeful about any of this. They had been lucky that the distraction he’d created with Combeferre had been enough to drive the guards away from the back entrance; if there was thing Montparnasse knew, was that luck didn’t smile twice at the same person for too long.

They finally reached the fence, and the boy pulled off a key from his pocket and opened the lock holding the fence door. He did the same to the facility’s back door, and there were no guards around to stop them.

"BL trusts us completely", the boy said, voice low, as he undid the lock. "I'm actually putting my life in risk because of this. If I get caught, they'll have my head".

"There are more important things to worry about than your head", Montparnasse said, feigning disdain. He knew how that boy was feeling. He had been on situations like that many times, when he was younger and homeless. He found it in his heart a wish to comfort the kid, but he couldn’t do so without breaking out of his character. Not if he wanted to go back home.

The boy silently swallowed dry and pulled the door open, checking the inside corridor to see if it was clear before looking back at Montparnasse.

"A-are you sure you're coming in? This wasn't on the original plan", he asked, sounding afraid. "T-they know you. They won't believe I'm just the trash boy if they see m-me with you", there was a small pause, before he added, hesitant: “Sir”.

Montparnasse sighed. The boy was right, but honestly, the possibility of breaking these Amis guys out of that place _pacifically_ was a faraway dream. They would need to fight their way out. The façade of the trash-taking boy would crumble as soon as they spotted the first guard. What they needed with the most priority was to be fast, not careful.

"Look, boy, you'll be unsafe from the moment you cross this door", Montparnasse muttered. "You should have thought this through before accepting the deal. We don’t have time to waste. Let's go".

"Y-yes, sir", the boy mumbled, and pulled the cart inside.

They walked silently through the corridor, despite of their hurried steps, finding no one on their way. Montparnasse frowned. Even with the distraction, there should have been at least someone there, guarding the elevator. His hand instinctively reached for the gun tugged on the back of his trousers, and he took it in hands.

"This is weird, there's usually at least one guard on this elevator", the boy told Montparnasse, frowning, as they reached the elevator and pressed the button. The boy tapped his feet unrhythmically on the floor as he waited for the elevator’s doors to open.

"I created a distraction", Montparnasse explained. "A very useful one, by the way".

The boy looked up at him, terrified.

"What the fuck? Why did you do that?" He asked, exasperated. His loud whispers echoed through the corridor. "Now the first thing they'll do is heavily guard this elevator! We'll have no way out!"

Montparnasse stared at the boy blankly.

"You do realize we're about to break out ten super powered people", Montparnasse explained slowly, as if talking to a child. "The guards on the elevator’s door will be the last of our problems. There will probably be hundreds of guards _down there_. And we’ll be in the company of people who have _super powers_ ".

"I'm out of this, man", the boy said, shaking his head and taking a step back, at the same time the elevator’s door tinged and opened. "We're going to get caught and killed. The guards will be here any se-"

Montparnasse raised his gun with a heavy, annoyed sigh and an eyeroll, and pointed at the boy's head, who stared at him with wide eyes.

"You get your ass inside this elevator or I'll blow your brains out", Montparnasse said matter-of-factly, even putting on a small smile.

"B-b-ut… w-wait…”, the boy raised his hands.

"Did I fucking stutter?" Montparnasse urged, nodding at the elevator door, and placing his finger at the trigger of the gun. The boy stared at him in fear for a couple of milliseconds before entering the elevator, pulling the cart behind him. Montparnasse followed, pressing the gun against the boy's temple casually. The boy pressed their floor button with a trembling finger, face pale and already sweaty. Montparnasse figured Gavroche’s boys would be braver, calloused by living in the streets as they were, but he couldn’t help but to wonder if this specific boy was a coward by nature or just a coward because it was Montparnasse there with him. As they reached the lower floor, he pushed the boy out of the cabin and pulled the cart behind him, leaving it halfway out of the elevator and preventing the door from closing.

"If this is really the only way in and out of this floor, then we won’t want them sending more people down here, will we?", Montparnasse explained, putting the safety of his gun on and tucking it back into his trousers. "If you try to run away and go back, you’ll know what will happen to you. They probably have guards up there already, and you know how _eager_ they are for your head”, he said vaguely with a twisted smirk. The boy hesitantly followed him as he walked down the hall, which was very narrow. “Let's go. We need to find Courfeyrac's cell first".

The boy swallowed dry and started walking across the corridor, looking wary.

"Y-you should keep your gun in hands", he said. "There will be at least one guard in front of each cell, and even if they're apart from each other, I can't use the excuse of being a trash boy anymore. They’ll probably shoot at us as soon as they see us”.

Montparnasse nodded, pulling his gun back out just as a guard appeared at the end of the corridor.

"Hey, what are you-!" the guard started, but never finished his sentence. Montparnasse shot him straight in the head with a sniper-like precision, and the man fell to the floor like a ragdoll.

"Now they know we're here", Montparnasse announced calmly, urging the boy to move more quickly as they jumped over the guard's body and doubled a corner. "We have even less time. Screw Courfeyrac, we need to find Feuilly".

"This cell has one Cosette", the boy said, squinting his eyes and reading the plaque in front of the cell. Montparnasse hesitated.

"Fine, whatever, we'll need all the people we can get", Montparnasse rolled his eyes. "Set her free and tell her you're with Combeferre. I'll try to find Feuilly".

the boy gaped at Montparnasse, looking incredulous.

"C-Combeferre?" He asked. Montparnasse prevented from face-slapping, remembering that neither Gavroche nor his boy knew about Combeferre’s involvement on the plan. It was supposed to be just Grantaire and Enjolras. But now it was too late. And the boy would probably die in that facility anyway.

"Yes, go on, we don't have much time", Montparnasse urged, shooting at another guard who had shown up at the end of the corridor.

"B-but-"

"Go before I shoot you too!" Montparnasse shouted, impatient, and the boy jumped at the sudden tone. He fumbled with the password - that had been the hardest to get, he only had the password of the first two cells and could only hope that they could find this Feuilly person soon and open all the doors. Montparnasse carried on across the hall without waiting to check if the boy had managed to open the door. He shot down two more guards before finding another cell. The plaque on the door read "Bahorel".

Montparnasse clicked his tongue and decided to turn back to Gavroche's boy. He would need Cosette's help to open Feuilly's door and get out of that damned facility before they all got caught. As he turned the corner he saw the boy half-carrying, half-dragging a semi-conscious Cosette, who was trying to walk but seemed too weak to do so.

"Wher's Ferre?" She slurred, but seemed to startle as soon as she laid eyes on Montparnasse. "Wha's he-?!"

"I'm with you", Montparnasse rolled his eyes, raising both hands to show compliance. "Grantaire and Combeferre are upstairs. I’m helping you out of this place", he added. Well, that wasn’t a lie. Combeferre was, technically, upstairs. "We need to get to Feuilly, he can help us the most. Can you use your powers?"

Cosette blinked with force twice, trying to focus, and then her blue eyes went red and a huge laser beam was emitted from them, barely missing Montparnasse's head by two inches and hitting the wall behind him, turning it into a crumbled mess of smoking concrete.

"Captivating. Try not to explode my head next time, will you?" Montparnasse said with annoyance as Cosette leaned harder on the boy.

"I c-can't control it", she said, voice weak and shaky. She sounded horrified, shutting her eyes tightly closed. "It's t-too strong, stronger than I’m used to, I c-can't –"

"Alright, keep your eyes closed, sweet heart", Montparnasse instructed, subtly getting out of Cosette's line of sight. "We'll tell you when to open them, ok?"

Cosette had started nodding when a sudden gunshot echoed through the hall, barely missing Cosette and hitting Gavroche's boy on the arm instead. The fell to the floor with a pained yelp, grabbing at his injured arm desperately. Cosette lost balance at this, since she had been leaning her weight on the boy, and fell back on her butt, facing the guards that had appeared at the end of the corridor, even though her eyes were closed.

"Now! Now, open your eyes!", Montparnasse urged, frantic. She opened her eyes, and Montparnasse found himself turning his head away. He heard the screams and the sound of flesh hitting the floor, and when he finally turned his head back was only to find a pile of carbonized bodies lying motionlessly on the ground, the smell of burnt flesh reaching his nostrils and making him flinch. He was used to gore and these men _had_ been trying to kill them, but still, the smell of burnt flesh had always made him sick.

Gavroche's boy was whimpering on the floor, clutching his arm to his chest protectively. Montparnasse got to his knees beside him to check it, despite the growing ache on his ribs, and lightly tapped the boy’s shoulder with reassurance.

"It's just a flesh wound", he told the whimpering boy. He pulled out a knife, cutting off a piece of the boy’s shirt and quickly making a makeshift bandage out of it, which he used to tie the boy’s injury. "You'll be fine. We need to go".

"Where are we? What happened?" Cosette asked, eyes shut tightly, sounding more sober than before. She was still sitting on the floor, head turning to every direction as she blindly tried to figure out where Montparnasse was.

"We have no time for this, I'll explain when we're out of here", he told her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her up and along with him. The boy was trying to stand up and follow, leaning heavily on the walls and smearing blood all over them. Montparnasse rolled his eyes. _Yeah, leave a track for the guards, you stupid git._

As they reached Bahorel's cell door, Montparnasse had to make a choice. They could either let each of the Amis free one by one or try to find Feuilly and open all the cell doors at the same time. If they went for Feuilly first, this would give the guards time to heavily secure each of the doors and to prepare themselves against Cosette’s attacks. Montparnasse knew they had the gears to do so.

This had been a suicide mission from the beginning. Giving up now was too defeatist, even for Montparnasse.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, though, there was a slight tremor coming from upstairs, making the floor shake briefly and dust fall from the ceiling. The lights flickered.

“Is that –“, Cosette started, but she never finished her sentence. A loud sound of crumbling cement filled their ears, and Montparnasse knew what that meant. Grantaire had tried to take the elevator and the trash cart had prevented him. The only way he found to go downstairs had been through crumbling the fucking ground.

“We gotta go”, Montparnasse urged them, stepping over the bodies of the dead guards and guiding a still weak Cosette. “We have to find Feuilly and end this”.

“But that’s Grantaire”, Cosette protested, even though she continued to follow Montparnasse.

“Yes, and he’s offering us backup”, Montparnasse explained absentmindedly, reading the inscriptions on each door they passed. More guards appeared in front of them, and Montparnasse shot at them at the same time Cosette opened her eyes and fried them to death. Montparnasse made a mental note not to ever cross Cosette.

They finally reached Feuilly’s door, which wasn’t guarded at all. In fact, none of the two doors in that corridor were, which meant all the security was probably focused on guarding Enjolras. Cosette melt the cell’s locker and Montparnasse pushed it open.

There was a ginger man lying on some sort of desk, several tubes connected to his body and electrodes glued to his temples and forehead. There was some sort of monitor behind him, mapping his body activity, and Montparnasse wasted no time in checking that. He tore the tubes away from Feuilly’s body carelessly and unglued the electrodes from his head. After hurriedly slapping his face a few times, Feuilly’s eyes flickered open, glassy and unfocused.

“Hi, I’m Montparnasse. You probably remember me from trying to kill you. Sorry about that. But I’m here to rescue you now, so if you could please get up and follow me”, he urged, grabbing one of Feuilly’s arms and pulling him out of the desk.

“Wha’?”, he asked, clearly groggy. He couldn’t sustain his own weight and had to lean heavily against Montparnasse, who struggled to offer him support. His ribs ached more terribly than ever and he was already sweating from the pain, but he had to keep going. He helped Feuilly out of the room and leaned the ginger man against the wall.

“Feuilly? Is that you?” Cosette asked, blindly reaching for her friend, who weakly grabbed her hands.

“’Sette? Wha’s goin’ on?”, Feuilly slurred.

“You and your friends were captured by some evil company or whatever and me and Grantaire are breaking you out”, Montparnasse explained quickly. “I need you to turn the building’s lights off”, he added, and Feuilly frowned.

“Where’s R?”, he asked, looking around. Montparnasse rolled his eyes. These people really loved second guessing him, didn’t they?

“Not! Important!” he said, as if he was talking to a mentally ill child. “If you could please do your fucking thing and turn these bloody lights off!”, he basically yelled, franticness verging on desperation.

Feuilly hesitated for a few more seconds before shaking his head in concentration and outstretching one of his hands towards the light bulb above them.

Nothing happened.

“What’s taking so long?”, Gavroche’s boy asked nervously, voice high pitched from pain, as he leaned on the wall beside Cosette.

“I… I don’t know”, Feuilly frowned, squinting his eyes in concentration. “It’s not…”

Suddenly the lightbulb above them exploded, and so did the next one, and the next, and the next. They could hear the power generator going off, and suddenly they were engulfed in darkness. The only source of light in the corridor was Feuilly’s eyes and the electricity running inside his veins; not even the emergency lights were working anymore.

“W-what’s happening?”, Feuilly asked, looking at his own glowing hands, horrified. He looked up at Montparnasse. “This never happened before. I’ve never been so –“

“Strong?”, Cosette interrupted nervously. “Me neither. I can’t even open my eyes without –“

“Enough with the chatter”, Montparnasse cut them off. “We don’t have time. We need to find your friends and let them out. Bossuet’s next. Yo, Firefly, lead the way”, he said, nodding to Feuilly. The ginger swallowed dry but begun walking through the narrow corridor, illuminating the path for the others to follow. They passed Marius’ door – but no one told Cosette that – and Éponine’s, before they finally found Jehan’s door and Bossuet’s. Montparnasse entered the cell, Feuilly right beside him, and begun to remove the tubes and electrodes from Bossuet’s body.

“Who are these people?”, Feuilly asked, blinking sluggishly. “What happened?”

“I told you, I’ll explain it to you later”, Montparnasse said. “You go and wake poet boy up. I’ll talk to Bossuet”, he instructed. Feuilly seemed to hesitate, but did as he was told. Before he left, he pointed a hand to the lightbulb on the ceiling of the room, making it turn on. Both of them could hear the muffled sounds of screaming and fighting, coming from the nearby corridors. Grantaire was probably making his way through.

Montparnasse slapped Bossuet’s face and, more quickly than he had expected, rose the man from his induced sleep. Bossuet blinked sluggishly at Montparnasse for a few seconds before getting to his feet more quickly than Montparnasse’s eyes could follow.

“Calm down!”, was the only thing Montparnasse could yell, before Bossuet ran as fast as a lightning and held him on a chokehold.

“Where are my friends?”, Bossuet yelled. “Where’s Joly?!”

Montparnasse opened his mouth to speak, but found no air to do so. Bossuet had probably recovered faster from his slumber because, due to his super speed, he had a faster metabolism. Still, Montparnasse was weakly struggling against the man’s strong grip on his neck, trying to scratch his arm in an attempt to free himself. Black spots were beginning to dance in front of his eyes – what a fucking stupid way to die – before Cosette appeared on the door, blindly searching for Bossuet, and being aided by Gavroche’s boy, who was still bleeding.

“Bossuet!”, she yelled, blindly searching for her friend. Bossuet’s grip on Montparnasse’s neck loosened, allowing some air to go through his airway, but he didn’t let go. “Montparnasse’s with us! He’s helping us!”

Bossuet frowned.

“What?”, he asked.

“He’s helping us”, she repeated, guiding herself across the room with a hand on the wall. “That mad company captured us and he and Grantaire are helping us out. We need to get out of here”.

Bossuet spared Montparnasse a hesitant look.

“You sure?”, he asked, looking up at Cosette.

“Yes, I’m goddamn sure! He’s the one who woke us up!”, she said. At that same time, Feuilly appeared on the door, sustaining a half-conscious Jehan.

Bossuet let go of Montparnasse, who fell to the floor ungracefully, coughing and wheezing for breath.

“You’re welcome”, he choked out sarcastically, voice hoarse.

“Sorry”, Bossuet frowned. “I thought –“

“Shut the hell up and listen to me”, Montparnasse interrupted, still coughing. “You need to find the rest of your friends and gather them all here. Use your super speed”.

“What?”, Bossuet’s frown deepened.

“Are you a fucking retard?”, Montparnasse snapped, struggling to get to his feet. He could no longer walk straight, or pretend that he wasn’t in a tremendous amount of pain. His lungs burned with each breath, and so did his ribs. “Do as I say. Some of your friends are still locked up; use your super speed to take them out of their cells and bring them here. We don’t have time”.

Bossuet blinked at Montparnasse dumbly.

“Do it!”, Montparnasse yelled, and before he could blink his eyes, Bossuet was gone. Montparnasse tried to lean on the wall to get up, but before he even managed to get to his feet, Bossuet was back, holding an unconscious Courfeyrac, a stirring Bahorel and an extremely confused Marius. Éponine and Musichetta were thrown over his shoulders, and he carefully set them down on the floor. Enjolras wasn’t with him. “Well, that was fast”, Montparnasse commented, voice constricted by pain.

“What happened to you?”, Bossuet asked, noticing the way Montparnasse winced with every movement.

“Let’s just say that the evil versions of you guys had their fun with me”, Montparnasse explained, not looking at Bossuet. “We still need to get the blonde leader”, he commented, leaning against the wall.

“I tried to, but I couldn’t. His cell was too heavily secured. They had a machine gun, for Christ’s sake. And his door was still locked”.

                Montparnasse swallowed dry. That Enjolras guy was the only hope Montparnasse had to prevent Grantaire from killing him.

                Suddenly, a guard passed flying across the corridor and collided with the opposite wall with a sickening thud.

                Speaking of the devil.

                Grantaire appeared at the end of the dark hall, eyes completely black, making him look like some sort of demon. There was blood trickling down his forehead and a clear gunshot wound on his shoulder, but still, he walked untroubled, as if he wasn’t hurt at all. A guard appeared behind him, shooting desperately at him, but none of his bullets hit the cynic, who broke his neck with a wave of his hand. He only stopped walking when he spotted Bossuet with the rest of his friends by the cell’s door at the opposite end of the hall. His eyes went back to normal, white globes with greyish irises, and he ran his way to his friends and pulled Bossuet into a tight hug, even allowing himself to smile slightly. Courfeyrac and Bahorel were still too groggy, being comforted by a weak Jehan on the floor, and Cosette was hugging a trembling Marius. Feuilly hugged Grantaire next, and Gavroche’s boy trembled at the sight of the cynic and fell to the floor, crawling away from the man, who didn’t even notice the kid.

                And then Grantaire turned his head and spotted Montparnasse, who was still leaning heavily against the wall of Bossuet’s cell.

                His eyes went back to full black.

                “Wait, wait, wait, I can explain”, Montparnasse raised a hand, trying to take a step back, but he couldn’t. Grantaire held him up by the neck, chocking him harder than Bossuet had. Montparnasse struggled, trying to suck the air in, hands madly trying to loosen Grantaire’s fingers around his neck.

                “Grantaire, what are you doing?!”, Feuilly exclaimed, taking a step forwards. “He saved us!”

                “He fucking shot Combeferre”, Grantaire growled, sounding animalistic, and his words earned a horrified gasp from all the group.

                “What?”, Courfeyrac slurred on the floor. “Ferre? Where is he?”

                “I don’t know”, Grantaire growled, rejoicing at the way Montparnasse’s face grew red and his eyes begun to flutter. He was keeping his promise. “But if he dies, it will be this guy’s fault”.

                “You can’t just kill him, R!”, Cosette yelled.

                “Yes I can”, Grantaire growled, tightening his grip on Montparnasse’s neck. The man’s arms went slack and fell limply beside his suspended body.

                “No, you can’t”, Bossuet said. “You’re not a murderer!”

                Grantaire hesitated.

                “There’s a lot of corpses on this floor that can prove you’re wrong”, he spat. Bossuet stared at him, horrified.

                Grantaire was made of pure anger, of pure rage. All he cared about was getting his friends, getting Enjolras, to safety. If it took killing the guards to do so, then so be it.

                “But that was self-defense, R”, Éponine argued. “This is murder”.

                “This is _vengeance_ ”, Grantaire protested, not letting go of Montparnasse. This _was_ vengeance. Montparnasse could have killed Combeferre. He may have. Whenever Grantaire used his powers, his emotions overwhelmed him. It was almost an instinct to listen to his feelings, rather than his brain. And what he was feeling right now was frustration. Anger. Sorrow. Fear. _Rage_. He felt possessed by the need to take Montparnasse’s life, to make him pay for what he had done. It was an animalistic need, but a need that he couldn’t let go of. The only thing in his head was “kill Montparnasse”.

                Ever since Enjolras’ doppelganger abused him, Grantaire had felt the need to retaliate. He had been hurt, humiliated, tortured, all the while helpless and small. He wanted to feel big again. He wanted to hurt those who had hurt him and his friends. He wanted justice. He wanted revenge. He wanted to feel whole again, and not just a shell. He wanted to function properly, instead of hyperventilating in panic whenever he remembered Enjolras’ face or voice.

                “R, let go of him”, Jehan begged, tears in his eyes. He turned his head to look at the poet, and the way Jehan flinched when he met Grantaire’s eyes made something in his heart tighten. Why was Jehan afraid of him? Didn’t he know that Grantaire would never, ever hurt him, or any of his friends?

                “Please”, Jehan begged again, looking horrified. Two fat tears escaped his eyes and rolled down his flushed face. “You’re scaring me”.

                Grantaire’s heart dropped to his stomach and he let go of Montparnasse, who fell limply to the floor. The man groaned and begun coughing again, trying to weakly crawl away from Grantaire. The cynic stared at his own trembling hands, which were still covered in blood. As his eyes returned to normal, he looked back up at Jehan, who was still weeping silently, head turned away. Grantaire slowly analyzed each of his friends’ faces, only to find horror and fear in all of them.

                A long silence followed, in which the only sound in the room was Montparnasse’s coughs. After what felt like an eternity of tension, Grantaire finally spoke up.

                “Where is Enjolras?”

                “He’s still locked up”, Bossuet said. “His cell is heavily guarded and there is no way we can break in”.

                “They’re probably sending enforcements as we speak”, Gavroche’s boy said weakly from the floor, blinking sluggishly. The blood loss was probably catching up with him. “We’ll never get out of here alive”.

                Grantaire looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do. He still had to go back for Combeferre. He had made a promise.

                Then he noticed Cosette’s tightly shut eyes, and frowned.

                “Why are your eyes closed?”, Grantaire asked. Had he scared Cosette that much, to make her close her eyes like that?

                Was he that much of a monster?

                “M-my powers”, Cosette hesitated, head turning to Grantaire’s general direction. “They’re too strong, I can’t… I can’t control them”.

                Grantaire looked around the room.

                “Is everyone experiencing this?”, Grantaire asked.

                “Yes”, Feuilly said, raising his still glowing hands. “They must have done something to us while we were unconscious, something that increased our powers somehow”.

                “Good”, Grantaire nodded his head, looking around. He ignored the way Montparnasse was still struggling to catch his breath. “Jehan”, he said, and pretended not to be affected when Jehan flinched again. “You need to teleport everyone out of here”.

                Jehan frowned, hesitantly meeting Grantaire’s eyes.

                “Teleport them where?”, he asked. Grantaire hesitated. They would no longer be able to use the truck, since guards probably already surrounded it. Gavroche would soon find out that he had made a deal with a fake Montparnasse, and would want their head – and so would this world’s Montparnasse. There was no one they could trust in this city, and nowhere they could go. The only place Grantaire had in mind was the building in which they had been captured, but even that was too risky. It was probably the first place in which BL would look for them.

                “The room”, Montparnasse croaked from where he was half-propped on the floor. Everyone looked at him. “The hotel room”, he clarified.

                “There is no way we’ll fit thirteen people in that room”, Grantaire protested with disdain.

                “We don’t… seem to have… a lot of options, do we?”, Montparnasse glared at Grantaire. “It’s temporary”, he added, struggling to sit up on the floor. “I’m assuming you’re… going after Enjolras and Combeferre”, he questioned.

                “Of _course_ I am”, Grantaire spat.

                “Then we’ll just… have to stay there… until you come back”, Montparnasse panted, still trying to catch his breath. “And then we’ll get… away”.

                “And if I don’t come back?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

                “Then we’re screwed, aren’t we”, Montparnasse rolled his eyes.

                Grantaire tilted his chin up, lips forming a thin line.

                “Fine. But Jehan doesn’t know where the apartment is”, Grantaire huffed out a breath.

                “Which is why we need to find your telepath friend first”, Montparnasse smirked weakly as if it was obvious. “Then he can… read our minds and project it… to the poet”.

                Grantaire bit his lip. It sounded like a plan. Plus, it was the only possible solution to this whole situation.

                “Fine”, Grantaire said. “You stay here and keep an eye out for these corridors. I’ll be right back”, he begun to march out of the room.

                “Wait!”, Jehan yelled, standing up. “You can’t go there alone! You’ll never get Enjolras out by yourself!”

                Grantaire turned on his heels, staring at Jehan sadly.

                “R”, Jehan continued, sounding like he was about to burst into tears again. “You’ll die”.

                Grantaire looked at his own feet, sorrow clear in his face. Yes, the probability that he would get himself killed was very high. But still, he had to try, didn’t he? None of their friends had the guts or the strength to go and fight for Enjolras. But, despite everything, despite of the doppelganger attack, and the abuse, and the trauma, still, Grantaire had to be strong for Enjolras. He had to be.

                “There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for Enjolras”, Grantaire said, and then he was gone, before Jehan could get a hold of him.

                “I don’t fucking know who you guys are”, Gavroche’s boy said, frightened, starring directly at Montparnasse. “You certainly aren’t Montparnasse. And none… n-none of you are… who I think you are”, he stuttered nervously. “But that… that… guy, he’s… he’s definitely him”.

                “What do you mean?”, Feuilly frowned, taking a step forwards and making the kid flinch.

                “You aren’t… _you_ ”, he tried to explain. “You aren’t evil, so you can’t be… _them_. Enjolras’ group, I m-mean. And you aren’t Montparnasse”, he pointed to Montparnasse with a shaky finger. “So I don’t know why you’re working with h-him, of all people. He’ll kill you. He’ll kill you all. I don’t know what happened to his fucking scar, but it’s him. I know it. We should try to escape while we still c-can”.

                “Who are you talking about?”, Éponine frowned, confused.

                The boy looked up at her, face pale and body trembling.

                “D-Deathquake”, the boy muttered in fear. “It’s him. And h-he’s going to k-kill us”.

-

                Grantaire could only remember fragments.

                He didn’t have to bother controlling his powers. It flowed out of him naturally, as an extension of himself, and he used his abilities to defend himself from the incoming bullets and to snap the necks of the guards attempting to kill him.

                He had never felt so strong. He had never felt so _powerful_. He could do anything. He could bring that facility to the ground.

                The guards shot at him with their useless machine guns, and Grantaire easily deflected the bullets. Something grew inside him and he let it out, emitting a pulse wave that knocked most of the guards down and even made the whole underground floor tremble. Dust fell upon his hair and face, mixing with the blood there, but he didn’t care. Some of the guards had special gears and electric nets, but before they could use them, Grantaire used his super power to crack their skull. They had tried to hurt his friends. They had tried to hurt Enjolras. They would have hurt Grantaire, had they had the chance. They deserved it.

                Grantaire kept telling himself that. They deserved it. They had it coming. This isn’t _my_ fault.

                After he was done, he was the only man standing in a corridor full of fallen bodies. His hands trembled and his face was bleeding, but he didn’t care. The more he used his powers, the more _powerful_ he felt. With a single shockwave emitted from his hand, Enjolras’ highly secured door was crushed until it was nothing more than a distorted piece of metal on the floor. He stepped inside.

                Enjolras was lying on a desk, hands and ankles cuffed. There were no tubes connected to his body, only electrodes on his head. His eyes were open, but unseeing, and his chapped lips were moving slightly, as if he was whispering something to himself. Grantaire approached him, hesitant.

                He knew that the man who had abused and humiliated him wasn’t the same man lying on this desk. Grantaire knew that the Enjolras who had abused him was a copy, a doppelganger, and not the real Enjolras, his Enjolras. But still, they had the same face, and the horrors of that night couldn’t help but to return full force to Grantaire’s mind. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes went from black to grey as he fell on his knees to the floor. His hands begun to tremble and tears rose to Grantaire’s eyes as he remembered the way Evil-Enjolras had touched him and used him. He remembered himself licking the man’s boot in a disgusting display, he remembered the sickening orders that Evil-Enjolras had given him on the back of his mind, with the same voice as Enjolras, in the same, exact way that Enjolras had ordered Grantaire to exit the manor as soon as he tried to help Joly out of the wormhole.

                _Enjolras and I are the same person, R_ , Evil-Enjolras’ voice echoed inside Grantaire’s brain. Grantaire couldn’t take this anymore. He felt so much rage and frustration. He punched the floor full-force, making a small crater appear where the ground connected with his fist and emitting a pulse wave that violently dislodged everything inside the cell, including Enjolras’ desk and Enjolras himself.

                “Shit”, Grantaire exclaimed, getting to his feet with horror and approaching Enjolras, who had fallen from the desk and now was lying on the floor, limbs askew. “Shit, shit, shit, I didn’t mean to”, he said, as he noticed the small cut on Enjolras’ forehead. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry”, he begun to detach the electrodes from Enjolras’ head, in the hopes that this would wake the man up. With his thumb, Grantaire wiped away the thin thread of blood that blossomed on the cut at Enjolras’ forehead, but it soon reappeared. Crap.

                Enjolras – the real Enjolras, _his_ Enjolras – had stayed by his side and comforted him, he had tried to reassure and protect Grantaire while his evil copy assaulted him. Whatever fuckedupness that Grantaire was enduring, was not his Enjolras’ fault. He didn’t deserve to be hurt. Grantaire hadn’t _meant to_.

                “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, he was muttering to an unresponsive Enjolras, who was blinking sluggishly but showed no awareness whatsoever of his surroundings. “I’m so sorry, I’m getting you out of here”. He resumed removing the electrodes and attempted to pick Enjolras up bridal style, but found out he couldn’t. There was a bullet graze in his leg, that he hadn’t noticed before, not with the thrill that using his powers brought, and now that he had put his weight on it, it hurt terribly. Grantaire fell on his side, dropping Enjolras in the process. “Shit, I’m sorry, Enjolras, shit”, Grantaire muttered again, cursing at his own injury.

                Suddenly, Enjolras blinked his eyes faster, and his glassy eyes focused on Grantaire’s face.

                “R?”, he asked, voice raspy and hoarse. Grantaire jolted at the sound, heart racing frantically because _shit_ , that was the _voice_ , the voice of his assaulter, the voice that had abused and humiliated and traumatized him. He knew, in the rational part of his brain, that Enjolras had done nothing of that, but hearing the sound of his voice triggered something inside him and he couldn’t help but to try to get away. Enjolras stared at Grantaire’s face blankly, face growing sad.

                All the Amis who had been held captive had their powers increased. If that was the case, then Enjolras’ powers were probably amplified too. Which meant he probably couldn’t keep himself from reading Grantaire’s _loud, scattered thoughts_ , as he had said in the past.

                “I know”, Grantaire said, trying to sound reassuring despite of the trembling in his voice. He needed Enjolras to know that he didn’t blame him. He needed Enjolras to know that he needed time to… recover himself from the trauma he suffered. He locked eyes with Enjolras, as much as that made his heart rate increase in fear. “I know it wasn’t you. I know… it wasn’t your fault”, whispered, unable to prevent himself from remembering the boot on his shoulder, or Evil-Enjolras’ touch on his crotch. He closed his eyes, nauseous, and Enjolras weakly reached for his hand.

                “I’m so sorry”, he whispered, and Grantaire let out a shaky breath.

                “You shouldn’t be”, he said. “You did none of that”.

                “Still”, Enjolras said, looking as if he was about to cry. “I’m sorry, R. I love y–“

                “No”, Grantaire shook his head. He couldn’t hear the words. Not yet. Enjolras lowered his eyes, defeated. There was a thin trail of blood trickling down his face now. He must have heard Grantaire’s thoughts, for he didn’t insist on the matter, but the idea of having his mind invaded like that just made the tremble in Grantaire’s hand grow.

                “I’m sorry”, Enjolras immediately apologized, and Grantaire couldn’t help but to feel… violated. It was happening all over again. Enjolras invading his thoughts, his mind, knowing what he was thinking and… what he wanted. He flinched, and Enjolras only looked more miserable. “I’m so sorry”, Enjolras said again, more vehemently. Grantaire raised a hand.

                “We don’t have time for this now”, he swallowed dry, not meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “You probably know what happened by now”.

                “I… I do”, Enjolras nodded briefly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to read your thoughts. But if our friends’ powers are increased, then mine must be, too. I can’t control it right now, I’m sorry, R–”.

                “Ok”, Grantaire interrupted. “It’s ok”. He struggled to get to his feet, but once he did so, he picked Enjolras up and threw him over his shoulder. This way it would be easier for him to carry him, rather than in bridal style, as he’d be able to put less weight on his injured leg. Enjolras was still a little bit out of it, since his limbs were limb as Grantaire carried him, as if he couldn’t muster the energy to move them.

                Memories of men holding syringes and injecting him with something flooded Grantaire’s mind, as did a dense feeling of crippling anxiety and an urge to fight or flight. Grantaire figured that Enjolras must have been projecting his memories to him, since he wasn’t able to properly control his powers, and tried to blink the images away.

                Grantaire couldn’t help but to feel bad about this. His friends couldn’t control their powers for the time being because they had been held captive and experimented on by an evil corporation that used whatever chemicals they must have used. Grantaire hadn’t been able to control his powers because he had let them take the best of him. He was weak. He had become everything he loathed.

                He had killed so many men. He had injured so many men. He had destroyed everything in his path just so that he could get to Enjolras. He only brought destruction and mayhem. He was a monster.

                “You’re not”, Enjolras groaned, voice muffled, as Grantaire walked back to the corridor where their friends were waiting. “A monster, I mean. You’re not. You did what had to be done”.

                Grantaire swallowed dry. He felt naked. He felt exposed.

                He felt small again.

                “I’m sorry”, Enjolras sniffed. Was he crying? Grantaire didn’t have the courage to check. “I didn’t mean to, R, I’m –“

                “I said ok”, Grantaire interrupted once more. He didn’t want to treat Enjolras with all that harshness and dryness, but he just… couldn’t have that conversation right now. They had to concentrate on getting out of that building and back to their world.

                Grantaire reached the corridor to find Bahorel and Feuilly guarding the door. They clearly relaxed as soon as they spotted Grantaire, and as the cynic stepped in, Enjolras still on his shoulder, the pair followed him inside the cell. Grantaire settled Enjolras down on the floor, ignoring the way he was staring up at him with those puppy eyes of his, and slammed the cell door shut.

                “I’m going to project a place to you”, Grantaire said, not looking at Enjolras. “Then you’ll project it to Jehan”.

                “I’m not leaving you here”, Enjolras said, tilting his chin up. “You can forget about this plan and make a new one”.

                “Enjolras”, Grantaire said, mustering all the patience that he could. “This isn’t the time for arguments. For once in your life, listen to what I say”.

                “No”, Enjolras protested. “You’re gonna die”.

                “What is he talking about?”, Bahorel asked, hesitant. “What plan?”

                “Combeferre is still upstairs”, Grantaire explained, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I am going to go after him while you all go back to the apartment”.

                “And you’ll die”, Enjolras added weakly.

                “I won’t”, Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras, but didn’t quite meet his eyes. “You think that if I survived rescuing you, I won’t be able to rescue Combeferre, either?”

                “You’re injured!”, Enjolras said matter-of-factly. “Look at your shoulder and your leg”.

                “So you suggest we leave Combeferre here at their mercy, then?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

                “No, I suggest I go with you”, Enjolras said. The whole room watched them quietly, without knowing what to say. Grantaire let out a roaring, forced laugh, throwing his head back.

                “Now you’re just being fucking ridiculous. You can’t even stand up straight”, Grantaire said, voice full of sarcasm. “You’re not going”.

                “Then I’m not projecting”, Enjolras protested, stubborn as a child.

                “As if you can help yourself”, Grantaire said, looking at Enjolras straight in the eye and focusing all his mental power on thinking about the old, dusty apartment he had been staying. From the way the image echoed in Grantaire’s own brain, and the way his friends were blinking in confusion, his plan had worked and Enjolras had accidentally projected the image of the apartment to his friend’s minds.

                Enjolras flushed, and Grantaire felt the frustration and anger that he was feeling – and still projecting.

                “I’m still going”, Enjolras said, leaning heavily on the wall as he tried to stand up. Jehan took a step forwards, calling Enjolras’ name, but it was useless.

                “No, you’re not”, Grantaire said. “Jehan, you need to teleport everyone out of here. _Now_ ”, Grantaire said. He could sense the approaching footsteps of the guards coming towards the cell. There were too many guards, and they had special gears, something that the previous guards didn’t have. Grantaire looked down at Enjolras, and instantly knew that he knew.

                “You can’t do this alone”, Enjolras whispered angrily. “I’m going with you”.

                “You’ll slow me down”, Grantaire said, pushing Bahorel, Feuilly and Cosette towards Jehan. He began walking around the room and pushing people towards Jehan, ignoring Enjolras struggling to get up.

                “I won’t”, Enjolras protested. “I’ll help you”.

                “You’re the first person they’ll be after”, Grantaire rolled his eyes, picking up Gavroche’s boy and placing him on Bahorel’s arms.

                “Which is why I can’t be with our friends, I’ll just endanger them!”, Enjolras said, weakly stepping towards Grantaire. He tripped and would have fallen face-first on the floor, if it wasn’t for Grantaire’s quick reflex that allowed him to take Enjolras into his arms.

                “Just shut up and go with them”, Grantaire asked, looking Enjolras deep in the eyes. There was a pleading hidden in his voice, and Enjolras must have noticed that, because his gaze softened.

                “R…”  
                “They’re coming, Enjolras, and you know it”, Grantaire said. All their friends were already holding Jehan, who looked terrified, even Montparnasse, who seemed to be struggling to stand. “You need to go”.

                “I can’t leave you”, Enjolras said, looking miserable.

                “I don’t know if I can teleport this many people at the same time”, Jehan said, hesitating.

                “Yes, you can”, Grantaire said without breaking eye contact with Enjolras. “Your powers have been increased, just like everyone else’s. You can do it”.

                “Grantaire, I’m not leaving you behind”, Enjolras said, anger replacing the sadness in his face.

                “And I’m not leaving Combeferre”.

                “Then let! Me! Go! With you!”, Enjolras protested.

                Grantaire’s grey eyes flickered black.

                “I can’t watch you die again”, Grantaire growled. “I can’t be responsible for your life. I came all this way to rescue you. I did everything I did to rescue you. I won’t be able to live with myself if that’s all in vain”.

                “It won’t be”, Enjolras said.

                Outside, the guards stood in front of the door. They were ready to break in.

                “You need to go”, Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ arm, pulling him towards Jehan against his will. “Now”.

                “No”, Enjolras protested, trying to free himself from Grantaire’s grip. “You can’t do this!”

                “See you later, Enjolras”, Grantaire said, but then there was a compulsion, too strong to be resisted, to let go of Enjolras’ arm. His hand went slack and he let go of his hold on Enjolras, who fell on his butt on the floor.

                He had done it again. Enjolras had just mind controlled Grantaire.

                “I can’t fucking believe you did this to me”, Grantaire said, breath catching in his throat. He tightened his hands into fists, and his eyes went full black again.

                “R… I’m s-sorry”, Enjolras said, sounding – and looking – terrified where he was sat. “It was an instinct, I didn’t me–“

                “You didn’t _mean to_?”, Grantaire growled, furious. How could Enjolras do this to him, after everything his doppelganger had done? How could he have such a little regard for Grantaire’s mental state?

                “R, I’m so sorry”, Enjolras pleaded, trying to reach for the cynic’s hand, but Grantaire leaned away from the touch. “I truly am, please, believe me –“

                Grantaire grabbed Enjolras again and, before he could do anything, shoved the leader towards Jehan, ignoring the blonde’s pleads. Then, everything happened at the same time.

The guards kicked the door open, guns aiming directly at Grantaire, who was the closest person to the door.

                “Grantaire!”, Enjolras yelled desperately, trying to reach for the cynic and being stopped by Jehan’s hand holding him back.

                And then, with a puf, Jehan teleported away and all Grantaire’s friends were gone in the blink of an eye. He was left standing alone inside the room.

                Slowly turning on his heels, Grantaire prepared himself to meet his fate.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, an explanation.  
> I haven't posted an update for this story in six months. You, who is reading this, must have probably wondered why, and if you are following my profile on ao3, you must have known that not only I updated other words, but I also started several new projects. I owe my readers an explanation as to why this story went on an unnanounced hiatus for so long, so here it goes.  
> This wasn't supposed to be an hiatus, in the first place. I had downright abandoned this story and had no intention of getting back to it or to continue it. I was just gonna... eh, leave it here, and not finish it. Ever. But just like it happened with Danger Days, I found that I couldn't just... drop it.  
> This year was tough for me. I won't get in unnecessary details, but I lost all will to write this story. I had ideas for other projects (which I started - and, in some cases, abandoned after they didn't get as many kudos as I assumed they would, or after I lost the inspiration for them, like it happened with Firefighter), and this series wasn't exactly thrilling for me to write anymore. In fact, I was writing it halfheartedly, almost as an obligation, which is something I hate doing. I love it when a project makes me want to write it, makes me inspired! Writing it just because I have to makes it all boring and disencouraging. So I dropped this series.  
> But now I've gotten back to it. Why?  
> Because I realized something. It doesn't matter how many kudos I get. It doesn't matter how many comments I get. Those things motivate me, yes, but they're not essential to the creative process. The only thing that matters is how much I enjoy writing the story, and if I get only one kudos for it, if I make only one reader happy, then yes, I will write it. If I wake up in the morning dying to get to my notebook to write, then it will be a worthy story.  
> So yeah, sorry for taking so long to realize this, and therefore, taking so long to update. I should let you know that the following updates won't be regular, though (since I am still working on Together and my life is a little rushed right now), or at least not as regular as they used to be. But since I (finally) felt like continuing this story, be sure that it will (probably) have an end (disclaimer: it might be shitty but you'll be the one to decide it)  
> Also, thank you for those who asked and encouraged me to continue to write this (Caroline, my poor soul, I'm looking at you here. Also looking at svreek and pure_imagination96 because damn I could only think about you guys as I wrote this) and once again, sorry for taking so long. I can just be happy for feeling inspired and eager to write this again, after such a long time.  
> And boy, oh, boy, did I miss writing these super powered queer nerds. Consider this my late Holidays gift for you.  
> By the way, sorry if it's crappy. I believe my writing style has changed a bit ever since I last updated this series (it might have not changed, it might be just me. but who knows) so yeah, if it feels odd, if it feels bad, don't hesitate to tell me. Mama's here to make you happy and write you things you enjoy reading.  
> Thank you for your patience, and I hope you like this part!


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